


my man of war

by Aufkurs



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:45:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aufkurs/pseuds/Aufkurs
Summary: The air was still crisp, the sky a cheerful blue, blotted here and there by puffy white clouds. War was on the horizon, but Niall Kasey Collins couldn't shake the excitement that burned down to his very core.





	1. Chapter 1

** April, 1938 **

The air was still crisp, the sky a cheerful blue, blotted here and there by puffy white clouds. War was on the horizon, but Niall Kasey Collins couldn't shake the excitement that burned down to his very core. 

It was official. As of today, he was stationed at the RAF Hornchurch, part of Squadron 54. 

Hornchurch was a farm many, many years ago, and it was still partially obvious by the landscape. The Royal Air Force did a good job of converting it and building up the aerodome but it couldn't do anything to hide the beauty of the flat spacious valleys of green grass. These valleys might have been used for harvest and livestock before, but now found use giving flight to aircraft. 

Collins' boots hit the soft grass with a spring in his step, eventually making his way to the concrete closest to the main buildings. 

He held his breath the whole time he reported in, held his breath the whole time he was shown his small bunk in a room shared by other pilots. He was grateful to find himself with a spare few minutes to make his way down to the hangar. 

The sun beat down on his head and shone off his golden hair as he walked, warming the back of his neck. 

Here, he finally let out the breath he was holding. All the aircraft were stunning, but to Collins, the Mk.Ia Supermarine Spitfires were beautiful. He stared, mouth slightly agape and blue eyes wide open with wonder, and didn't even notice another pilot staring at him from inside the shadows of the hangar. 

"Oi, farm boy. You lost?" 

His eyes snapped away from the masterfully crafted metals, settling on a pilot crouched near the tail end of a Spitfire a few feet away. Even though he was bundled up in a bomber jacket and regulation slacks, Collins could tell he was built thicker than he was. His dusty brown hair was shorn close to his skull on the sides, leaving very little length at the top. 

"Sir." Collins straightened his posture, addressing the other man more seriously. He stood up slowly - a few inches shorter than Collins, surprisingly - and stared at the blond man, eyes unreadable and sharp. 

"Farrier," the other man introduced himself without aplomb, holding a gloved hand out to Collins. His handshake was strong, grip unforgiving but not overbearing. His mouth was set in a firm line. 

"Niall Collins," he returned with a smile, noting the way the other man's - Farrier's - brows knit ever so slightly, perhaps a little perturbed by his own enthusiasm. "You've a first name, Farrier?" 

Farrier made a sort of noncommittal noise, taking a step back to look Collins up and down. "Didn't realize we were desperate enough to pick up children." 

All he could respond with was a shrug and a sheepish smile. Collins could have been insulted, but instead he laughed, having grown used to hearing these things a long time ago. He nodded towards the Spitfire that Farrier was standing beside. "Why don' you show her t'me?" 

Farrier made another indecipherable sound but turned to the aircraft anyway, his expression shifting to something more like fondness. 

"Aye, may as well take a look."


	2. drift all you like

** September, 1938 **

Despite all his excitement, Collins found this new schedule at Hornchurch rather dull and perfunctory. He didn't mind it much, as he had more than ample opportunity to spend time in the blue skies rather than tethered to the ground. He found himself to be more than an adequate pilot, coming to life like he never could have imagined, up alongside birds in the air. 

Squadron 54 had spent most of its time patrolling the Kent coast. By the grace of god, or by sheer luck, it was typically quiet. Still, they could hear what was happening around the world, close to home, be it through word of mouth or hushed gatherings around the radio. 

During most of their patrols, Collins found himself paired with the strange and quiet man, Farrier. Their flight leader was often one of the more senior pilots. 

"Wonder how much longer they'll have us going 'round' nd 'round," Farrier uncharacteristically mused aloud after one such patrol. He took one last pull from his post-flight cigarette before irritably tossing it to the earth, crushing it into the ground with the heel of his boot. 

"Don' know. You'd rather be up in the front lines?" Collins questioned, hopping out from the cabin of his own Spitfire and shooting the other man an incredulous look. The entire patrol had gone smoothly and without a hitch - he was at a loss for the other man's source of irritability. 

Farrier didn't look at him, but Collins could feel the pilot's frustration focus on him nonetheless. "Not me, but you'll likely find yourself--" 

"Nobody wants to be in the front lines," their flight leader interrupted without grace. The man, aptly named Gray, was always no-nonsense and eager to provide grim reminders. "Farrier, we do our patrols for good reason. Keep that in mind and keep your thoughts to yourself." 

" _Yessir,_ " Farrier responded, eyes narrowing as they followed the man's disappearing back. Collins snorted - keep his thoughts to himself? Usually, getting Farrier to speak his thoughts openly was as enjoyable as pulling teeth. Farrier shot Collins a dark look. 

Collins caught it, flashing Farrier one of his poster boy smiles. He knew when he could be charming, and wasn't afraid to make use of it. He pulled his helmet off, holding it against his torso with one arm while his other hand ruffled his blond hair back to some semblance of life. "Somethin' the matter?" 

Farrier grunted, eloquent as ever, pulling off his gloves and shoving them in his jacket pocket. He ran his bare hand over his face, suddenly looking more tired than Collins had ever seen him. "Nothin'," Farrier said, staring pointedly away from Collins. "Good flying today, farm boy." 

He clapped Collins on the shoulder before walking away, his strides long and leaving no room for a response.

Collins' jovial expression faltered slightly at the pilot's retreating silhouette. "I'm not a farm boy!" he called out, not entirely caring whether the other heard him or not. "Pretty sure we're the same age, tosser!" 

Farrier caught his shouting, but gave no indication other than a barely-visible shake of his head. 


	3. from ocean to ocean

** December, 1938 **

Eight months had passed since Collins found himself stationed at Hornchurch. Eight months spent mostly in the sky, patrolling the coast with Farrier at his side. 

Today marked the first snow day, and also their first day of Holiday leave. (Likely their _only_ leave, for quite a while, if the post and radio were to be trusted.) The timing couldn't have been better, really - fat snowflakes fell lazily from the sky, piling up fast and making it almost impossible to see any distance on the ground, let alone up in the air inside a plane. Collins couldn't help but smile at the soft _crunch_ of snow under his boots as he stepped outside, a small luggage bag slung over his shoulder and his hands shoved in the pockets of his bomber jacket. A low voice shook him out of his reverie. 

"Giddy, aren't you?" 

A few other pilots were also stepping out quietly, but Collins could pick out the source of the voice easily enough. Farrier was a few feet behind him, looking at Collins with a barely-visible ghost of a smile on his full lips. Collins smiled back, his nose dusted pink from the kiss of the cold air. "Perhaps a bit," he admitted, amused. He looked Farrier up and down, noting no luggage bag or hefty belongings. "Have you any plans?" 

"The RAF have some lodgings over in Norfolk," Farrier explained with a shrug. He didn't offer any more information other than that, and Collins didn't feel much like prying. _Family too far away to visit on leave?_ Or maybe _no family to visit at all?_

"That's a little over an hour away, isn' it? I'll bunk with you, then," Collins invited himself, throwing an arm over Farrier's broad shoulders, effectively bulldozing through the other man's tendency to hesitate. The truth was he didn't have many faces to see back home, and didn't want to linger on those thoughts with no company for too long. 

The trip to Norfolk was uninteresting at best, a blur of white and frost-caked trees. The first pub they set foot in was lined up and down in familiar uniforms and dress, neatly-cropped heads of hair all bowed low over the bar in somber conversation. Farrier looked ready to step in regardless but Collins turned on his heel, pulling the other man with him down winding snow-dusted streets. He wasn't familiar with the area at all, true, but it was easy enough to find the 'downtown' pub based strictly on the mood of the surrounding shops. 

"Far from our lodgings," Farrier grumbled while Collins all but pushed him inside. It was louder here, with jovial civilian voices mingling indistinguishably together. Amber stained glass lamps cut lazily through the soft cloud of cigarette smoke clinging to the low ceiling. 

"All that time up in the air got your legs lazy?" Collins chuckled at the other man as they found themselves seats at the packed bar. He placed their order with the bartender, two stouts, before turning back to Farrier. "I never expected you to complain about a bit of a walk back." 

To his credit, Farrier didn't look overly bothered by the jab at all. Rather than taking it to heart, Collins was pleasantly surprised when he shot back. "Not complaining for m'self," he explained, gaze sliding lazily over to Collins, a hint of amusement behind his gray eyes. "Worried about your fair self catching a cold, 'cause I'm not going to nurse you." 

That earned a heartfelt laugh from Collins, who lifted his glass up to Farrier in a toast. "You're quite mistaken about the snow, mate," he grinned as their glasses clinked together. "I was born in it, y'see..." 

After a few hours and more than a few drinks, the sun had set completely and most of the patrons had left the bar, leaving nothing but the sound of a few sparse soft conversations and quiet moments of laughter. Collins was far from drunk, but decidedly affected by the alcohol nonetheless, feeling the familiar tingling warmth in his fingers and toes. A soft blush had made its home on his cheeks, but he didn't feel it. Farrier appeared largely unaffected to the untrained eye, but Collins could pick out a more leisurely slope to his shoulders that he'd never seen before. Under the bar top, their knees brushed against each other. Farrier's usually neatly combed hair was ruffled slightly- 

Collins didn't realize the other man was asking him a question until he caught the quizzical look in his eyes, his forehead scrunching up in that unique way of his. 

"Sorry, mate, what's that?" Collins blinked owlishly, trying and failing to recall the words that came from Farrier's mouth. He lit a cigarette while Farrier took his time to roll his eyes before speaking again. 

"I said, you've a bird back home? Why're you spending your Hols with an old man?" Farrier repeated, sounding a little more exasperated than Collins was used to hearing him. Or maybe it was sheepish, he couldn't place it. Farrier looked away, taking another sip from his glass. Collins hadn't noticed the bartender fill it again. 

"A bird," Collins repeated, his tone full of mirth, cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. He laughed, not unkindly. "Why'd I need a bird when we've got the whole damn sky, you and me?" 

Farrier risked glancing at Collins now, trying to gauge the blond's expression, hoping his own eyes didn't bely the turmoil twisting his heart. _You and me_ \- the choice of words was either pointedly accurate, or merely innocent and accidental. 

His eyes did betray him, however - Collins soaked in the almost-hidden expressions but didn't hint at what he'd seen. "Nah, mate, I haven't got the time," Collins explained more soberly with a shrug, patting Farrier's knee. His skin felt warm underneath the regulation fabric, and Collins may have let his hand linger a second too long, because Farrier stiffened up suddenly. 

The relaxed slope to his shoulders was gone, like a figment of Collins' imagination, replaced with the usual sharp angles he was familiar with seeing on base. Farrier rifled through his pockets, smacking a few bills on the counter. His glass was more than half full, but he stood up regardless, pointedly looking anywhere other than at Collins. 

"Good choice, this place," Farrier said gruffly, nodding at the bar. He turned on his heel, heading for the door alone. "See you back at the lodgings." 

And with that, he left. Collins sat at the bar, half turned in his seat, watching the door. Maybe it was the snow outside, or maybe Farrier's sudden departure, but suddenly the warmth Collins felt before was replaced by an icy cold knot in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> born in it, haha, get it, hahahahaa? No? Oh well.


	4. search the whole world

**December, 1938** \- _later that same evening_

"Bloody _fuckin' hell--_ " curses muttered under his breath slowly devolved into a tongue known mostly only to those of his hometown, a secluded and quiet area, much more welcoming than the cold and snowy streets he was currently wandering down. Collins scowled, his usually boyish features marred with irritation. Irritation at himself, at his own actions. Puffy snowflakes settled gently on top of his blond hair, dusting his squared shoulders. 

What had he been thinking? No, that wasn't the problem - he hadn't been thinking at all. 

The cobblestone streets hadn't seemed nearly this cold on their initial walk to the bar, but now with the sun set and the snow still drifting from the sky, it was overwhelmingly chilly and foreboding. Maybe it was the temperature dropping down with the sun. Maybe it was the windows of the streetside shops suddenly gone dark, lights inside snuffed out earlier in the evening. Maybe it was the lack of a familiar face at his side. 

Maybe it was his own indecision chewing up his insides. Why did he have to go and ruin a good evening? Ruin those small steps of progress? Farrier had actually smiled with him, at him, just earlier this evening. 

Between the alcohol and his nerves, Collins felt suddenly queasy, nervousness clawing at his chest and bile rising in the back of his throat. He groaned, stopping in his tracks, leaning his head against the cold paneling of a house nearby the sidewalk. He definitely hadn't had that much to drink, no, no, not now-- 

Collins doubled over with a choked gasp, the meager amount of food and not-so-meager amount of drink he'd had just a short while ago coming up and spilling out suddenly, violently. 

After a few moments of simply focusing on his breathing, Collins brought a shaky hand to his face, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He spat at the ground beneath him a few more times, face twisting at the acrid taste lining his mouth. He stood up slowly on uneasy legs, arms crossed tightly across his stomach. "Bloody fucking _hell_ ," he repeated to himself. 

It felt like days, maybe centuries, until he saw the familiar silhouette of the inn they were staying at in the distance. In reality it had only been the lesser part of an hour, but Collins still felt drained, steps heavy, navigating purely on autopilot. The foyer was still lit, so that was a good sign. The innkeep glanced up from her late-night busywork at the desk, asking Collins a quiet question. He didn't hear her, and simply nodded in her general direction before making his way to the steps leading up to the rooms. 

The door to Farrier's room came to view first, closed tight, of course. Collins couldn't make out any light from beneath the doorframe and he didn't feel like lingering to find out for certain. He unlocked his own door, one room down, shuffling quietly over to the nightstand. He really ought to clean up, but he needed to collect his head first before he went stumbling about the place. Absent-mindedly, he patted the pockets of his coat, eventually finding the pack of cigarettes he'd been aiming for. He stepped over to the window facing the street, sliding it open as far as it would allow. Slumping to the floor with a soft _whump_ , he braced his arm on the windowsill, cigarette hanging loosely from his fingertips but not yet lit. Eyes closed, he was simply relishing the feeling of the cool air on his face when he caught the drifting scent of cigarette smoke wandering into his room. 

Collins' eyes snapped open, brow furrowing in confusion. He had been shocked into sobriety earlier, so there was no way he lit his cigarette without realizing it - he glanced at it, and sure enough, it wasn't lit. More curious than confused now, Collins sat up slightly, poking his head out the window. A light trail of smoke was coming from the window of the adjacent room, a familiar calloused hand lazily flicking ashes into the street below. "Oi!" Collins called out quietly, still more than a little hesitant. 

The hand disappeared, and he could hear a light shuffle from the other room. Collins held his breath, expecting to hear the window slam shut. Eventually, a welcomed face peered out the window at him. Farrier's brows were drawn up and his expression incredulous. "Yeah?" 

"Oh," Collins breathed out, unable to hide his relieved smile. This wasn't a win, not yet, but it certainly wasn't a loss, either. His blond bangs fell over his eyes as he leaned out the window a little more, resting both his arms on the sill. It creaked gently in protest. "Jus'... I wanted to say sorry, about before-" 

"Don't worry your pretty little head off," Farrier interrupted, looking away and flicking more ash into the earth two stories beneath them. He paused, taking a long drag before continuing. "You didn't do anything to apologize for." 

"Well it most certainly _feels_ like I did," Collins responded, staring holes into the side of Farrier's head as if willing him to turn, make eye contact with him, see he was truly remorseful. 

Farrier pulled his arm back suddenly, and Collins could make out the muffled sounds of Farrier standing up. "Don't you dare move," he heard the other man call out before the window suddenly slammed shut. 

Collins slumped out from the window back onto the floor of his room, not moving, still leaning his side against the wall. He felt more than heard the soft vibrations of someone walking, barefoot, from the neighboring room to his own door. It opened with the soft whine of old hinges. 

Farrier stood illuminated in the doorway, his expression appearing worried, like it often did - gray eyes endlessly probing, brows turned up and crinkling his forehead. He looked comfortable and warm, wearing an ivory cable jumper and slacks rolled up into loose cuffs at his ankles. Collins tried to smile up at him, but ended up looking more tired than anything else, gray and crumpled from his draining walk in the snow. 

"You will be the death of me," Farrier muttered, feigning anger but doing a poor job of it. He shut the door gently behind him before stepping closer, kneeling in front of Collins. "You did catch a cold, didn't you?" 

Farrier lifted a trembling hand to Collins' face, feeling his forehead first before shifting to cup his cheek gently. Collins leaned into the touch - Farrier's hands were large and rough, but pleasantly warm, especially compared to Collins' own ice-tipped fingers. He let his hand sit atop Farrier's against his face. "You don't have to nurse me," he said quietly, eyes drifting shut and a smile on his face. "I'm 21, I'm far from a babe." 

Farrier made a noise like a _hmm_ in the back of his throat, but didn't pull away like Collins expected him to. "Well, you were right back then - I'm only two years your senior," Farrier admitted, lifting his other hand to dust the mostly-melted snowflakes from Collins' shoulder. 

Collins managed to laugh at that, happy at his success. He'd never grow out of his childish looks, which served to confuse and bewilder everyone, including Farrier. Perhaps bolstered by his own amusement, perhaps hungrily seeking to share the heat of the man in front of him, perhaps just riding with the moment - he won't remember which. Collins leans forward, more sure of himself than he's ever been even in the sky, and he closes the distance between himself and Farrier, pressing his own ice cold lips to Farrier's warm, full ones. 

Farrier doesn't respond, not at first, and Collins almost pulls back, ashamed. But then he's leaning into Collins just as much, shifting his hand from his cheek to the back of his neck, carding through the soft short hair of his nape. He's kissing Collins back, full of warmth and fervor, using his free hand to demandingly tug at the collar of his damp jacket. 

All of a sudden, Farrier pulls back. Collins stares at him, breathless and sporting an angry crimson blush across his cheekbones. "What the hell?" he gasps out, reaching to pull Farrier in by the wrists. 

Farrier bats away his hands expertly, sitting back on his heels. "Listen, mate, I-- this--" Farrier starts, and Collins can feel his insides start to drop down to the floor beneath them. He can only stare up at Farrier as he waits for the other man, waits for the words to crush him brutally like a boot dashing a bug to soft pieces against the cobblestone outside. 

"Mate, you've _got_ to brush your teeth," Farrier finally manages to gasp out, and in this moment Collins is thankful his arse is already to the floor, because otherwise he would have dropped where he stood. 

Collins starts to laugh, fully and straight from his heart. "Oh, no-- I'm so sorry," he utters between choked gasps of air. "I will, I promise I will, right now." 

He manages to stand up despite his shaky legs, Farrier helping him stay upright with strong hands clamping down on his shoulders. 

"Please do, because I'd very much like to continue- whatever this is," Farrier admits quietly, leaning his forehead against Collins'. His mouth twitches, trying to hide a grimace. "You've got to clean up that sick, though." 

Collins struggles to hide his laughter his entire trip to the shared washroom, not wanting to wake everyone else.


	5. but drunken confessions

**December, 1938** \- _later that same evening_

After washing up, and consequently warming up, Collins made his way down the short hall to his rented room with a nervous spark in his step. He hadn't felt this kind of pent-up, electric energy since his first solo. He'd been jittery and eager to get his feet off the ground back then, and he felt some of the same anxious trepidation when his hand touched the brass knob of the door. His hand trembled, ever so slightly, but certainly not from fright. 

Farrier was still there, seated on the bed, in his room. Collins swallowed hard. Farrier. In _his_ room. The other pilot looked comfortable and perfectly at home, staring leisurely out the still-open window. At the sound of the door, Farrier turned, gray eyes pinning Collins with an intensity he'd only ever glimpsed from a distance when they were side by side in the endless blue sky. 

Collins hesitated here, feeling like his feet had just been glued to the floor. He'd effectively steamrolled through his entire actions before without thinking it through, and felt himself running out of momentum now. The door shut behind him, and his hand rested on the knob, still and motionless. 

"C'mere." 

Farrier softly patted the small, cozy-looking quilted twin size mattress. Collins unfroze then, taking the few quick steps to stand in front of Farrier, a smile on his own face and a blush dusting his fair cheeks. 

Farrier hummed, low in his throat, resting a hand on Collins' hipbone. He looked up at Collins, the barest hint of a smile gracing his full lips. "Need to get you out of these damp clothes," Farrier murmured, and Collins felt his breath catch in his throat. "Otherwise you really will catch a cold." 

Collins felt a heat rise from his chest and spread all the way up to his ears. "A-ah, yes, I suppose you're right," he stammered gracelessly. He let his jacket fall down to the floor with a _flump_ before kicking his boots off, letting them land somewhere in the far corner of the room. Farrier touched the hem of his shirt gently, never looking away from his face. Collins exhaled shakily as his shirt was pulled off, leaving only his pants. 

Collins draped his hands over Farrier's broad shoulders, ducking his head and letting his blond hair fall over his face. He felt Farrier's hands ghost over his belt, soft touches here and there before he pulled the belt loose, letting Collins' pants fall to the floor, underwear still clinging to his hips. Collins heard Farrier exhale sharply. 

"Christ, you're beautiful," Farrier breathed out, fingers tracing circles across Collins' abdomen and up to his freckle soaked shoulders. He felt gooseflesh breaking out behind the trail of touches, felt blood and heat start to pool low in his pelvis. Collins waited, over eager and wound up tight, for Farrier to continue. Instead, he stilled, hands resting lightly on Collins' hips. 

Collins straightened up, looking down at Farrier curiously. The other man's face was unreadable but clearly concentrated on something, mouth set in a firm line. A soft blush darkened the cheekbones of his sun-kissed skin. 

"You all right?" Collins asked softly, and Farrier started minutely, broken from his short reverie. Farrier cleared his throat. 

"Yes, I'm all right." He didn't look all right, though. Collins frowned, realization dawning on him. 

"Farrier, have you never...?" he started to question, running a hand slowly through Farrier's short cropped hair. The other man ducked his head and mumbled something, indecipherable. 

Collins laughed, deep from his chest, kneeling down in front of the other man. He cupped Farrier's face in his hands, pressing gentle soft kisses to his crinkled forehead. "You've got to speak up, mate." 

"I said, no. Not-- not with anyone." Collins felt something in his chest go all funny at the admission, but he'd file that feeling away for later examination. He focused on the man in front of him right now instead, pushing against his shoulder with a little force, causing him to fall back against the mattress. There was a bewildered look in his eyes, something akin to a horse about to bolt, but Collins stood up and backed off instead. He picked at his luggage sack laying atop the chest at the foot of the bed, pulling out a soft nightshirt and tugging it over his torso. 

Farrier relaxed visibly when Collins stepped back to the mattress, lying down beside him and scooting up closely. Collins propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Farrier with one of his charming smiles. "We don't have t' do anything besides-- this," Collins assured him, leaning in for a quick, chaste kiss. He watched Farrier expectantly. 

Farrier smiled, then, one of the first genuine and relaxed smiles he'd seen from him this whole time. "Yes, I'd like that." 

Collins nearly dove into him them, crushing their mouths together with more force and urgency than before. Farrier reached up, cradling his head with his palm. Collins breathed a sigh of relief, still feeling the heat gathered insistently in his belly, but content to ignore it for now and enjoy whatever small pieces of Farrier the other man was willing to share.


	6. and hijacked affairs

_Collins was young. He couldn't remember his age, exactly, but he was still small and unsure of himself. He could feel the unease deep in his small bones._

_A wave came tumbling in, cold water rushing up to his ankles. When the wave was pulled back his feet had begun to sink slowly into the sand, toes disappearing. He stared at the ground, watching small seashells roll back past him. He heard a sound come from the sea, a familiar voice, and he lifted his head to follow the call._

_His sharp eyes could make out a figure walking out into the ocean, a pale form with long strawberry blonde locks drifting past her shoulders._

_He pulled his feet from the sand, hurriedly stomping his way through the water, splashing icy droplets up into his face. He pushed on, going deeper until the water was well up to his chest. He felt cold to his very core but the figure was starting to disappear on the horizon, and he couldn't lose her this time, no. Suddenly, jarringly, he couldn't see the figure at all as a giant wave swelled up before him. It crashed down without remorse._

_Collins was knocked off his feet, balance thrown asunder as his small frame was tossed around in the water. He couldn't tell which way was up, and for a few seconds, he felt more content than he ever had before._

**February, 1939**

Waking with a stifled gasp, Collins shivered under his regulation blanket as he sat up from the unwelcoming cot. The barracks were dark and quiet except for the sound of deep snoring, so Collins figured it was likely that everyone else was still sleeping, drained from another day of anxious patrolling. 

He'd managed to sneak outside the back of the barracks, smuggling out a cigarette and a few matches. He tried to settle back down but couldn't shake the feeling the dream left him with. It was cold outside, sure, but the crisp biting air made him feel alight with life. The whispers of war on the horizon only fueled that fire even further. 

Collins sunk to the grass below, leaning his weight back into the brickstone building behind him. He only got through one pull of his cigarette before he spotted a figure approaching him in the dark. He stood up at once, expecting to be chewed out by an SO, but relaxed when he recognized the other man's gait. 

Farrier. 

Breathing out a relieved sigh, Collins felt his body lose the tenseness he'd only been vaguely aware of, settling back against the brick. Farrier's eyes looked tired, but the warmth still shone through. The other man's quiet voice cut through the silence 

"All right over there?" 

Collins nodded, feeling Farrier's eyes scrutinizing him. "Aye, just needed a smoke." 

"I heard you. When you woke up," Farrier started, sitting next to Collins, letting his shoulder bump into him gently. He pulled the cigarette from Collins' fingers, taking a drag. 

Collins sighed. Sometimes Farrier was too observant, even when he was supposed to be sleeping. "A dream," Collins explained, hoping Farrier wouldn't push the issue. He reached for his cigarette but Farrier batted his hand away gently. 

Farrier hummed in response, but the noise didn't make it sound like he was quite convinced. Collins glanced over at him, seeing Farrier's worried expression in the low light. "Didn't seem like a dream," he muttered. 

"It wasn't... it was an old nightmare," he admitted reluctantly, not wanting to delve into it any further. "I never remember it much, just how it feels." 

Farrier nodded, eyes drifting to the air strip far out in front of them as he seemingly accepted that vague answer. Collins now could see that the other man was trying to mask something, the particular sharp angle of his shoulders giving it away to the trained eye. 

Farrier didn't look away as Collins settled his hand on the shoulder closest to him, gentle but grounding. "All right over here?" he asked, mimicking the question from earlier. 

The tension faded from his muscles for the most part, but not completely. Farrier ground the cigarette into the dirt beside him. Finally, he turned to Collins, a smile warming his face. "Yeah." 

Farrier leaned closer, cupping Collins' face with a calloused hand. Their lips brushed softly, nothing more than a gentle kiss stolen in the night. Collins relaxed into the touch, feeling the unease from his nightmare fizzle to nothing in the light that was Farrier. It wasn't often that Farrier would kiss him first, but Collins relished every single one of these moments. 

His chest felt tight when Farrier finally pulled back, ruffling his blond hair fondly. They only dared to steal small gestures of affection hidden in the dark, few and far between. Collins was not one to complain, even if he wanted more, so very desperately. 

Collins reached out to grasp Farrier's hands, letting their fingers tangle together as they sat there, staring up at the cold dark sky and wondering where the next day would take them. 

Neither of them cared, as long as the other was safe at their side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay as I'd been so steady before. Work has been quite busy.


End file.
